He listened for heartbeats from them—but found none.
All strigoi.
Rhun stepped forward, shielding Erin and Jordan behind him. He had led the pair to this moment—back inside the mountain of Masada, when he had revealed his nature to them. He had set them on this bloody path, and he could do no less than give his life to protect them now. But he feared that it would not be enough.
Then again, he was not alone this day.
Christian drew to one side of him, Bernard on the other, and flanking them all were Agmundr and Wingu. Elisabeta hung back with Tommy, crouching from the threat, showing sharp teeth.
Upon some silent signal, the entire pack of strigoi began to lope across the sand at a speed that no human could ever match, racing under this dread gray sky.
Erin’s heart skipped faster, but she held her ground. Jordan stood calm next to her, his bravery evident with every strong beat of his heart.
Rhun drew his blade and waited.
He picked out his first target: the biggest warrior, a tall man in the middle. Christian followed his gaze, nodded, and picked another for himself. Rhun watched the others choose their targets.
With discipline and training, the Sanguinists could break the first wave of attackers. Additionally, his group had the advantage of fighting on holy ground.
It might weaken the others enough.
It might.
Then another hatch dropped from the flank of the helicopter and dark beasts poured out of the shadows and into the grim light.
Rhun’s fragile hope faded.
Blasphemare.
He spotted gray jackals with long noses and large ears, howling as they ran, their cries piercing the day. Behind them came a pride of black-coated lions flowing with a sinuous grace, like oil across the sand.
Each was twisted into a fearsome and monstrous incarnation of its natural self, born of black blood and cruelty.
He tested their heartbeats, finding them slow and deep, attesting to their age and strength. Even without the strigoi, Rhun doubted that his forces would stand against these creatures for long—if at all.
Rhun swallowed once and whispered a quick prayer.
They were doomed.
As had been foretold the day he was turned, he would die fighting.
But Erin deserved a better fate.
4:31 P.M.
It had to be blasphemare, too.
Jordan groaned. He gripped his machine pistol more firmly, knowing it was little better than a popgun against these beasts.
The countess drew Tommy back behind her. “Don’t paint the devil on the wall,” she told him.
What does that mean?
Tommy was equally baffled and voiced it aloud. “Huh?”
The boy looked at the menagerie hauling ass toward them. It sure looked like the devil was all around them. And this was no painting, but a slavering, howling horde in all its cinematic glory.
“It means . . . have hope,” she explained.
It was odd to hear the countess talking of hope when Jordan himself couldn’t seem to muster more than a scrap of it. Still, it was nice of her to try to comfort the kid.
The strigoi horde reached the crater’s rim first and rather than flooding over the edge, they parted and swept outward, encircling the bowl, trapping them completely. Or perhaps they also sensed the holiness of this sand-and-glass valley.
The countess hissed low in her throat, pulling Tommy farther behind her. The Sanguinists moved to match the strigoi maneuver, ringing everyone in a protective circle.
Arella spoke near Jordan’s ear, making him jump, coming upon him so quietly.
“The countess speaks wisdom,” Arella whispered. “All can yet be won.”
Before Jordan could ask her what that meant, Arella grabbed Tommy from behind Bathory and yanked him toward the open mouth of the well—and pushed him into it. He cried out as he splashed clumsily into the water.
Bathory was upon her in a flash, knocking her away. But a splash from the well washed across her boots. She cried out and fell back, as if it had been molten lava.
Arella returned to the well’s edge as Tommy floundered below.
“Beware,” she warned. “Only those imbued by angels can touch these waters. All others will be destroyed. Even humans.”
With those dire words, she dove into the water, catching Tommy’s arm and dragging him below.
The countess hung back, looking stricken.
No wonder the well had been so firmly sealed and left to the sand and ages.
“At least the boy is safe from immediate harm,” Rhun consoled her.
Yeah, but what about us?
Jordan widened his shooting stance. He stared up at the horde gathered around them. Strigoi hissed and drew long curved swords. Blasphemare crowded in by their hips and shoulders. At least the bastards hadn’t brought guns—then he remembered why they didn’t carry such weapons.
They preferred to eat their prey alive.